


let you wash over me

by shadeandadidas



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drinking, First Kiss, M/M, but elia and filippo bond, general shennanigans of teenage boys, happy birthday elia, i'll save that for a later day, the sex isn't super explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 19:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18430274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeandadidas/pseuds/shadeandadidas
Summary: “It doesn’t feel like it though. Middle of the week. Exams today and tomorrow? Nowhere to celebrate? Might as well just be another Thursday.”Marti waved a hand between them, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I fixed it.”Elia leaned back in his seat, arm no longer reached out to smack Gio’s stomach. “Fixed it? Fixed what?”“Your party,” Marti shrugged, looking the epitome of bored grace and chill. He calmly opened a bag of chips, stealing one, before handing the bag to Nico, “I fixed it. Filippo agreed to let us have it as his place on Friday.”(Or: Happy Birthday, Elia! I have a feeling it's going to be a great one. Filippo thinks so too.)





	let you wash over me

**Author's Note:**

> Okay it's been actual years since I've done a full length fic. But like, it's Elia's birtday and I had many- a- people in my inbox asking for some Elippo love.
> 
> And what was a drabble turned into.... well this! Also please forgive my lack of beta.

**Giovedi 17:28**

  
  


Elia Santini has been eighteen for less than two hours and already, he’s decided that this year is going to be his best yet.  _ This year _ was going to be one that matters.

 

It seemed kind of kitschy, kind of cheesy, sure, kind of something  _ his mother _ would read off to him from one of her Hallmark cards, but the sentiment remains the same.

 

This year…  _ this  _ year was the one that is going to mean something.

 

Or maybe it would, if his parents didn’t fucking hate him enough to decide not to go on that nice weekend away and relinquish control of the apartment for one fucking night for a party.

 

So maybe this birthday was going to turn out a dud like most of the others.

 

Whatever.

 

“Happy birthday, man.” Marti greeted, slinging his long, deer legs over the bench of the picnic-esque table and throwing out a fist to bump. Nico is right behind him, flicking Marti’s ear as he passes to grab a seat next to Luchi on the other side of the table. Luchi pauses his voracious scrolling of Instagram to give Nico the star-stunned, adoring look that had become common since Nico’s general incorporation into the group, before Luchi clearly remembered he had balls and returned to scrolling. 

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Elia responds in kind, grinning a little bit at the raised eyebrows Nico gives him to echo Marti’s sentiment, “It doesn’t feel like it though. Middle of the week. Exams today and tomorrow? Nowhere to celebrate? Might as well just be another Thursday.”

 

There’s a loud scoffing noise and then a thwack to the side of Elia’s head and then--

 

_ Ouch, fucker. _

 

“Is that bitching I hear?” Gio, late as always, picked up the apple he had tossed at Elia’s head, raising it up in a mock toast before taking a bite out of it. His arm was disgustingly wrapped around The Argentinian's shoulders. “What am I talking about--it’s Elia.”

 

Elia raised a choice finger and grinned, “That’s hilarious. Hi, Sofia, how are you doing?”

 

Sofia blinked at him in surprise. “Fine.”

 

They all paused and then--

 

_ Nope _ , nothing. She just returned her gaze to the rest of the school yard.

 

“Alright, then,” Gio said slowly, before giving Sofia a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

The Argentinian nodded and flit away to join her friends at the gate. 

 

Martino grinned into his palm, “A poet, she is.”

 

Nico nodded sagely, “A true connoisseur of the Italian language.”  

 

“Really, she can read the phone book and make it sound enthralling.” Luchi coughed a snort, still glued to his phone. 

 

And then Gio rolled his eyes and took another bite of apple, hovering at the head of the table. “Alright, fuckers, that’s enough. She’s just… shy. Whatever. What was Elia crying about?”

 

“Crying? Alright, cazzo, alright, let’s talk about--”

 

Marti waved a hand between them, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I fixed it.”

 

Elia leaned back in his seat, arm no longer reached out to smack Gio’s stomach. “Fixed it? Fixed what?”

 

“Your party,” Marti shrugged, looking the epitome of bored grace and chill. He calmly opened a bag of chips, stealing one, before handing the bag to Nico, “I fixed it. Filippo agreed to let us have it as his place on Friday.”

 

_ Filippo _ , Elia’s mind was slow to process the name. For a second, just out the corner of his eye, Elia saw a shock of bleached hair, a flash of dark,  _ dark _ eyes and cupid’s bow lips curved up in a mischievous smile from across the room.

 

Elia blinked and the image was gone. He frowned, “Filippo Sava?”

 

Luchi slid his phone into his pocket, “Your gay guru with the bleached hair from the Christmas party?”

 

“His hair is pink now, remember?”

 

Something in Elia’s stomach clenched. Not for… not for any reason. It was just an odd sort of awareness. Awareness of the older Sava sibling who had hardly spared Elia a glance at the Christmas party months ago-- though who could considering the way Marti was beaming from ear to ear that night. Awareness that Filippo hadn’t uttered a word to them the last time Elia and Luchi had been in his presence. 

 

_ Awareness _ of the way Filippo’s lip ring caught the light and sometimes --  _ once _ , Elia had only really ever been around him once-- when Filippo grinned, his eyes squinted up in a way that made it impossible not to feel your own lips quirk up in response.

_ Whatever.  _

 

Just a weird sort of awareness.

 

Elia cleared his throat, “Is he staying?”

 

Marti gave him a blank look, “Staying? At the party in his own apartment? Yeah, man, he’s staying. Don’t worry about it though, he seemed really okay with the whole thing.”

 

“Oh,” The dumbest response ever, so he cleared his throat and tried again, “Okay, cool. Then party at the Sava’s.”

 

* * *

 

**Giovedi 22:39**

 

F I L I P P --

 

Elia’s thumb hesitated above the final ‘O’ in his name.

 

The Instagram icon had been winking at him since the first hour of boredom he had spent alone in his room. The search bar, white and bright and mocking, even more so. 

 

He’d contented himself for a little while scrolling through Marti’s feed and then Elenoras’-- each with a practiced nonchalance. As if he hadn’t been strategically searching through those Instagrams for any particular person to appear. 

 

Filippo  _ did _ appear here and there in their photos. And every single one he did, Elia stopped for just a second, zoomed in for just a second, familiarized himself for  _ just a second _ with the sharp features of Filippo’s face.

 

But Instagram feeds run out. Rather quickly, in the case of his friends, and Elia had still been working to name the feeling that had lodged in and out of his stomach at the jut of Filippo’s chin and the photos presented just weren’t enough.

 

So here he was, giving in to the urge.

 

Elia pressed the final ‘O’. He typed in the S A V A without hesitation. 

 

**0 results.**

 

Elia threw the phone down and sighed. 

 

 

* * *

 

**Venerdi 22:06**

 

They were one, two, six, seven drinks in by the time Elia and Marti and-- and the rest of his boys stumble through.

 

_ “Holy fuck.”  _

 

The words were barely audible because, because this was a full on  _ party _ . Strobe lights flicker and bounced off the walls in eclectic patterns, blues, greens, pinks, purples, flashing and flashing, only rivaled in atmosphere by the sound of the base thumping and beating and vibrating the walls.

 

People-- their friends, their acquaintances, people who Elia doesn’t even know-- cheered the moment Elia walked in and raised plastic cups and bottles in the air before going back to intertwining in between furniture. 

 

Elia swiveled towards Marti who looked around at the apartment in awe as well, “Was this you?”

 

Marti shook his head slowly, “I mean-- no. Some of it, but this... This is insane.”

 

Eva, tottering as gracefully as she was capable in sky high heels, ran over to them.

 

“Boys!” she hummed happily, voiced raised and slinging two arms around Marti, practically falling into him. She laughed, though it was impossible to hear over the music and pat at his face. Marti kissed her cheek, but subtly extracted himself.

 

Gio stepped forward and took her weight easily. She looked at Gio sharply --  _ yikes- _ \- but consented to a hug far more close than any platonic friends should have. After a couple of seconds (a couple of long looks between Elia and Marti and Luchi and Nico), Eva stumbled back.

 

Marti touched her shoulder, “Have you seen Filippo?”

 

She grinned widely, “He’s around here somewhere. He was so funny setting up! Wanted everything perfect.”

 

Elia absolutely does not read into that.

 

He cleared his throat, “Tell him I said thanks.”

 

Eva turned dramatically towards Elia and cheered, “Elia! It’s your birthday. Happy…  _ happy birthday!” _

 

And before Elia can open his mouth to thank her, to tell her that she looks really hot tonight, but maybe she should lay off the booze, Eva stepped into his space and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him too.

 

Elia froze and Martino, the asshole, started barking peels of laughter. And, fuck, what is Elia supposed to do when his best bro’s best ex goes on a macking spree? Elia didn’t ask for this, fuck.

 

He held his hands to the side and kept them there, lest Gio think anything untoward. Lest a _ ny of them _ think anything untoward. 

 

His eyes opened wide and focused on the space behind Eva’s ear, in case there was one of her friends there to note his alarm and call her off.

 

None of her friends were in frantic gesture distance but---

 

But.

 

Filippo Sava himself stood across the room by a cooler of beer, watching them. Watching  _ him.  _ Elia blinked and all at once he felt the one two too many drinks and it was like the room slowed down just a little bit. Fell away. Zoomed in.

 

Filippo was wearing a nice lavender button up with pink fuschia flowers decorating the pocket of it. It really complimented his pale, pink hair- which yes, Elia would be first the first to note what an odd observation it was during these critical few seconds.

 

But he did. Note it. He also noted how tight Filippo’s dark wash jeans were. 

 

Filippo cocked his head to the side and grinned, taking a small sip of beer from a bottle and continued to watch them for a half a second before he  _ winked _ .

 

That was enough put Elia into gear. He gently detached himself from Eva and laughed awkwardly at her cute little frown, before she grinned again and pinched his cheek.

 

“Elia, Elia,” she said and then her eyes grew big, “Hey, what do you think of Silvia?”

 

_ Silvia? _

 

Elia glanced back to where Filippo had been standing,  _ watching _ . But he was gone.

 

“Okay,” Gio said, stepping in between Elia and Eva, “Let’s get some drinks, shall we?”

 

_ Water _ , Gio mouthed, but drew her away and disappeared into the crowd.

 

* * *

 

**Venerdi 23:54**

 

An hour passed, or maybe an hour and a half? There were more drinks consumed and loud, drunk teenagers that wished him heartfelt happy birthdays, ones that even Elia could swear he never had seen in his life. 

 

He didn’t question it. He just drank and laughed and danced and cheered. He flirted with cute girls and jeered when Nico and Marti disappear to the bathroom together for twenty minutes and came back rumpled and kiss-bruised. 

 

Good for them, he thought, and his eyes trace the room.

 

He talked to-- fuck what’s Marti’s ex-girlfriend or beard or whatever name? for awhile, before her hulking boyfriend returned from the restroom. He promptly dismissed himself with a cheeky grin and swerved out into the middle of the main room.

 

_ Middle of the action.  _

 

Elia smiled and tipped his head back, letting the music and the loud, sometimes incomprehensible conversation flow over him. Several more people yeledl at him birthday wishes and he waved and kissed cheeks and grinned wider than he can imagine.

 

He looked around the room full of people.

 

Marti and Nico were in a corner somewhere, whispering to themselves, staring into each other’s eyes. A room full of people and they only saw each other. How fitting. 

 

Gio was sitting with the girls, eyes every so often drifting to Eva, even when he was telling Elenora and Sana a story. He used big hand gestures, but didn’t seem to really get into it until Eva is laughing. 

 

Even Luchi was getting action tonight; a young freshman sat awfully close to him, knees touching, every so often patting his thigh as he talked. His eyes grew wider and wider with every second and finally the freshman stood up and held a hand out to him.

 

Luchi met Elia’s gaze and Elia threw him an avid thumbs up.

 

_ Room full of people, room full of people, room full of… _

 

Elia frowned, turning left and right. He hovered at the center of the action. What does he do now? With his friends occupied-- what does he do? 

 

Who is he without his friends around?

 

“You look incredibly distraught for an eighteen year old.”

 

Elia turned again and the first thing he’s hit with are those dark eyes and thin eyebrows raised in a perfect arc. The second thing he noticed is that one pale hand is outstretched towards him, red plastic cup in hand. In Filippo’s other hand, another cup rests comfortably in his palm.

 

“Oh,” Elia said dumbly, before shaking himself, “I’m-- I think I’m done drinking for now. Thanks though.”

 

Filippo chuckled lowly before switching the hands outstretched. He offered now a blue cup, “It’s a good thing I accounted for both then. Water.”

 

Elia took the cup and sipped. And then sipped again, and kept sipping until the water was completely gone and a little bit of it dribbled down his face and neck. Filippo watched the scene with sharp eyes, tracing the droplets of water down Elia’s neck.

 

Elia had the sudden feeling like he was two steps behind in whatever it was that they were doing tonight. 

 

Now. 

 

Whatever.

 

Elia cleared his throat, “Thanks, man.” A pause and then, “For… for letting us use your place and uh… Wait, how  _ did _ Marti convince you to throw a house party for a kid you barely even know.”

 

Filippo scratches at the edge of his brow and smiled wryly, “He agreed to give me an introduction to someone actually. That’s it.”

 

And that was… well then. Elia tried not to frown, tried to sneakily think back on the people he had seen Filippo talking to, tried to pinpoint who might be intimidating enough,  _ important  _ enough, to warrant Filippo Sava asking Marti for an introduction.

 

“Did you get it?” Elia asked after a beat, “The introduction?”

 

“No.” Filippo replied, eyes still  _ so dark _ , unblinking, ”No, I decided to do it on my own.”

 

A flush crawled up Elia’s neck. He felt like he was missing something, like he was grasping at straws to keep this conversation in the bounds in which he spoke to his friends.

 

_ His friends. _ He wonders where they were to pull the heat off of Elia. Right about now, he’d be content to fade into the safe background of this conversation.

 

Elia wiped at his brow, surprised when his hand came back a little damp. 

 

Filippo took notice and nodded to the front door, “We have a roof. Does the birthday boy want a little air?”

 

Filippo took a small sip of his drink, discarded it on a random table, and headed towards the door without another glance back.

 

Elia had a half of second to breathe and then stumbled after him.

 

* * *

 

**Venerdi 23:59**

 

The fresh night air _ did _ do absolutely wonderful things.

 

Elia inhaled a couple of lungfuls and exhaled the stench of partying teenagers; of drugs and drinks and crowd. 

 

Filippo was sitting on the ledge of the roof, legs crossed, pink hair dark in the flickering lights from the surrounding buildings. Filippo raised his hand and curled his pointer finger towards his face several time. The universal  _ “come here” _ motion.

 

And that was like… different. But the drinks must’ve still been waging wars inside his body, distracting his brain from things like logic and boundaries, because Elia ceded Filippo’s request without hesitation. 

 

Filippo pat the ledge next to him and Elia hopped on. Elia wobbled a bit and Filippo’s hand came down on his shoulder like a vice and suddenly, Elia was as still as a scarecrow.

 

Filippo looked him up and down, slowly, and then turned his face towards the sky, eyes shut. “Fuck.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Why were you sad in there?” Filippo opened his eyes, “What happened?”

 

What happened? Elia thought back to the moments before Filippo had intercepted him-- oddly enough, he’s having a hard time focusing on anything that wasn’t Filippo staring at him, feet moving gently to the muffled beat on the ledge. Was having trouble focusing on anything that wasn’t Filippo at the moment.

 

But still, he thought back and when the errant thought returned,  _ who am I without my friends? _ With the tiniest downtown of lips, his frown returned. 

 

“Hey,” Filippo said, and suddenly there was a blank painted finger tip brushing a light path of fire down the corner of Elia’s mouth. “None of that.”

 

Elia blinked and Filippo’s finger ventured further, first exploring the contours of Elia’s slack lips, and then to the side, until it was tracing the ever-present gold hoop in his ear and then playing with a spring-y curl of hair.

 

And, _ like _ , Elia’s brain short circuits for a moment, because  _ what the fuck _ is going on right now? 

 

“Um.” Elia whispered, and Filippo drew back, throwing his hadn’t back like he hadn’t just thrown Elia’s entire world out of orbit for a hot second. 

 

Filippo chanced a glance up and chuckled at the stupefied expression. But, like, Elia was pretty damn sure that he was allowed to be stupefied. What other reaction was he supposed to have of the older brother of one of the most notorious girl’s in school dragging fingers down his face like some kind of cheesy porn.

 

Fuck, Elia thought, porn and sex and _ Filippo _ and  _ what the fuck is going on right now _ and  _ birthday _ and  _ best year yet _ .

 

Fuck, Elia simultaneously wished he was way more sober for this and yet could chug another ten drinks down. 

 

“Sorry,” Filippo offered plainly, not sounding even the tiniest bit sorry. “Do you want to go back inside?”

 

_ No _ . God, Elia never wanted to go back inside. Inside was sweat and drinks and friends, yes, but friends living their lives and loving their loves and feeling satisfied with themselves to the beat of EDM. Out here was fresh air and a clear head.

 

And Filippo.

 

“No,” Elia said, “I was sad because when I was in there, celebrating my birthday, I felt like a side character in someone else’s plot. And in that moment, the camera had zoomed in on me for a few minutes and I don’t-- I don’t know how to act when it’s about me and not Martino or Gio or-- I don’t know if that makes sense.” 

 

Filippo folded his hands in front of him, “It does. I get it.” 

 

They were both quiet for a few minutes, and the Filippo hummed for a second, shook his head, and slid off of the ledge. There was a swell of disappointment, that maybe he was tired of Elia now, maybe he didn’t want to spend tonight comforting sad sack Elia who thinks sometimes in the dead of the night that no one really loves him and that Filippo was going to go inside and forget about this ever happening.

 

But Filippo didn’t; instead he slid of of the ledge and shuffled closer to Elia, not quite in between Elia’s legs, but close enough for their to be intention.

 

Elia felt his lips part.

 

Filippo moved a little closer, “The show is about you, Elia Santini, this is your plotline tonight. You’re in charge. What do you want?”

 

“Fuck,” he breathed, “Fuck. I want…”

 

Filippo moved a couple steps closer, “Mhmm?”

 

A strangled, breathy inhalation, “Um…”

 

Filippo was centimeters away low, eyes every so often flicking down towards Elia’s lips. This was-- look, Elia had never really questioned his sexuality before. Most of the times, he lusted after girls. He was normal and healthy and, shoot him if sometimes he saw a guy and felt the same way. He’s a teenager, the wind blows just right and he gets turned on.

 

It never bothered him like that. Not like it bothered Marti. Not like it bothered his parents. 

 

_ Ew, his parents. _ He does not want to go there right now.

 

The point was, that the sexuality bit, the boy bit, didn’t bother him at all. What bothered him is that Elia has always been content playing the side character. Roles had been dictated to him by circumstance-- the loud best friend, the supportive friend, the mom friend.  _ Friend Friend Friend _ , no lead. And that was fine. 

 

But here Filippo was offering him a new role entirely outside the bounds of what he’d been since as long as he could remember.

 

Filippo leaned forward just a bit, and Elia thought _ god yes, holy fuck, okay okay okay… _

 

But Filippo stopped just before their lips met. Close enough to feel warm breath, far enough to crave contact. Filippo smiled a bit, dark eyes boring holes into Elia’s, and then Filippo stuck his pink tongue out and ran the quickest stripe up Elia’s lips. No kiss… just a fucking taste.

 

“You’re in charge,” Filippo told him lowly, “What storyline are you going to go with? Are you going to kiss the boy? Run away screaming? Gently let me down?” Another beat, and Filippo said even lower, almost shyly, “You really are so fucking pretty. Fuck.”

 

Alright then. Okay.

 

Elia leaned forward opened his mouth and suddenly there was pressure all over. There was Filippo’s lips on his, licking, biting, sucking, and there was Filippo’s black tinted finger tips tangled in Elia’s curls. 

 

But there was also Elia’s hands tracing up and down Filippo’s face; running down his chest, gripping his shoulder as an anchor. There was Elia making little breathy noises that Filippo heard and took and claimed as his own.

 

Elia leaned back a little too far and felt his heart swoop when he remembered that he was on a fucking ledge, physically and metaphorically, and he could fall at any second. 

 

But Filippo was there to grab him and haul him off the ledge. To dip his hands under Elia’s shirt and rake careful nails into his back and waist.

 

Elia drew back, blinking eyes open blearily. Filippo was biting his lip, blinking rapidly, practically vibrating. Elia scooted down the rest of the way, off the ledge, Filippo, of course, didn't give him the slightest bit of room, and instead forced Elia to come down practically on top of him, completely in his space where every inch of skin touched.

 

Filippo traced Elia’s lips again, and Elia felt like he was missing a part of that story. 

 

“This enough for you? It can be you know. Plot line fulfilled; boy tries out boy, discovers he might,” Filippo trailed down his hands from his lips to his chest lower lower lower. Elia gasped, “ _ like it _ a bit. But that’s neither here nor there.”

 

_ Filippo Sava, Filippo Sava… _

 

“Plot line,” Elia said, “just beginning.”

 

* * *

 

**Sabato 00:17**

 

Elia was eighteen for two days and he felt like he’s breathing for the first time. Granted, it’s incredibly hard to breathe at the moment with the way Filippo was looking up at him, dark always so dark and direct, but there is a little bit of something else in there too.

 

Maybe something akin to wonder or surprise. Maybe Elia is reading too much into him. But Filippo lashes are wet and he lowers his head down a little bit more and--

 

Eia arches, gasping and fists tightening, clutching the white sheets of Filippo’s bed. He gasps out Filippo’s name, instructions, more more more, then come here, oh my god.

 

And then they were kissing again and Elia is flying high of endorphins and Filippo is smirking, tracing strands of sweaty hair at the base of Elia’s neck, but Elia bats the hands away and shakily makes his way down the bed.

 

Filippo sits up, eyeing him warily, fearfully until.

 

“Oh,” Filippo says, surprised, and then tips his head back, “Fuck those lips. Fuck, fuck. Elia, you’ve done enough tonight- you don’t need to--”

 

Elia pulled off, “Shh. My plot line, my sex scene, it’s nowhere near done yet.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! I'm a little rusty, but for Elippo I'll do anything. 
> 
> Please, please remember that I am a creature of validation so any bit of commentary/ kudos you can give me, I snatch up like No Face. 
> 
> Thank you! Tell me your thoughts! Tell me your ideas of where you'd like to see Elippo taken in the show and my potential future fics.
> 
> And as always, you can find me at : shadeandadidas on Tumblr where I post new drabbles with various pairings almost daily.


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